


Consolation

by magickus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Age Difference, Creampie, Gags, Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), M/M, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Marking, Penis In Vagina Sex, Quickies, Semi-Public Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Tent Sex, Trans Male Character, Trans Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, kinda.., ruby weapon spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickus/pseuds/magickus
Summary: Claran tries to apologize to an old enemy.
Relationships: Gaius van Baelsar/Warrior of Light
Kudos: 85





	Consolation

**Author's Note:**

> he's back to fuckin around eorzea baby!!
> 
> this is mostly unedited because im lazy forgive any mistakes

The guilt eats him alive.

Claran stands a healthy, unsuspicious distance outside Gaius’s designated tent, his fingers playing with the legs of his glasses. He receives a mixture of awestruck and perplexed stares from passing recruits, who bend their heads and whisper to themselves about why the Warrior of Light looks so frightened. He just defeated a massive Imperial war machine, after all. He should be celebrating, not standing around fidgeting with his spectacles.

But he’s not. He can’t. Someone was lost— someone precious.

And he killed her.

They say she was lost the moment she stepped into the Ruby Weapon, but Claran still cannot help but feel responsible. Perhaps there was something they could have done to save her. The lingering echoes of Gaius’s pain he felt, standing over her body, was almost too much for him to bear.

He cannot imagine how Gaius must feel.

Claran takes a long, deep breath. He walks forward. He owes Gaius this much.

Before he can raise his hand to the tent flaps— to what,  _ knock? —  _ they part and Gaius looms over him, his expression severe and weathered. Claran sheepishly lowers his hand. “H...hi,” he says pathetically. 

“Decided to come in, have you?” Gaius grunts. He steps aside and holds the canvas open. “Thought you were going to stand out here all night.”

Caught red-handed, Claran shuffles into the tent. He can feel curious stares against his back as he goes and tries to keep his worry under control. Gaius closes the entrance behind him, and Claran’s painful awareness of his own unusual behavior is mercifully abated, at least for the time being.

Gaius returns to his cot and sits, his spine rigid and straight, his gold eyes hard and knowing. Claran risks one fleeting instance of eye contact, shuddering at the exposure, before he has to look away again. He could still feel pain, faint but  _ there.  _ Gaius can hide from him better than most. He had to, Claran supposes. They were enemies once, after all.

The silence stretches onward. Claran stares at a spot of dirt on the tent wall. He swallows, his throat dry. Sweat beads on his brow and lip. He shuffles his weight from foot to foot, but there’s nowhere in the tent for him to sit, unless he feels like mortifying himself further by sitting on Gaius’s cot.

He takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the worse. “...Gaius, I—”

“Apology accepted.”

Claran lets out a pitiful wheeze instead of the long-winded speech he had planned in his head in the ten minutes he had spent staking out Gaius’s tent. He flounders, the wind taken from his sails. “I-I— um, I don’t—”

Something akin to mirth enters Gaius’s eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he says. “You needn’t placate me with doleful platitudes. We both understood what had to be done. The fault lies with me alone.”

Claran furrows his brow. “I… yes. Perhaps. But that still does not stop you from hurting.”

He glances at Gaius and catches a stricken expression, before his face smooths back into neutrality. “You  _ still  _ feel it.”

“Yes.”

“Despite my best efforts to keep it hidden.”

“...You  _ are  _ pretty good at it. But I can still feel you.”

Gaius chuckles, his voice deep and velvety, and despite himself and all his better judgment Claran cannot help but shiver. “You continue to astound me, Warrior of Light.”

Claran tenses. He slowly turns his head and looks at Gaius head-on, staring at the slope of his neck, the lines in his cheeks and brow and the corner of his lips. “...Claran,” he says quietly. “Just Claran. Please.”

He watches the skin beside Gaius’s mouth crease as he smiles. He has laugh lines. Did he smile often? Claran has only seen him with a serious expression. Claran finds a smile fetching on him. “Claran, then,” he acquiesces, dipping his head. “I can manage my own pain. I am no stranger to it.”

“Still. I-If there’s anything I can do…”

It’s a risk, and as he suspected, Gaius’s smile falls away. He shakes his head. “Your concern is perplexing but unfounded. I will be fine. Turn your focus to our mission instead of me. What’s at stake is far more important than one man’s grief.”

And that hurts. Gaius is  _ wrong.  _ “Why must it?” Claran says, too quick and too loud. He chews his lip for a moment and makes a conscious effort to lower his voice. The rest of the Alliance already suspects Gaius enough, it wouldn’t do to be caught shouting at him. “You’re my ally now, right? We’re working together. I-is it so wrong to care for your wellbeing?”

Gaius frowns. He stares Claran down, unblinking. Claran tries his best not to squirm under the piercing gaze, feeling like a bug pinned to a board. “...We used to be enemies,” Gaius says slowly. “I have made numerous attempts on your life— and you have made one against mine. You nearly succeeded.”

Claran flinches violently and draws back. It hurts to think about. He draws in a sharp breath, holds it, and lets it out slow. His blood races in his ears. “I-I’m sorry… I wish we didn’t have to,” he says, fighting back the rising tremble in his voice. “Things change. People change. Not always, but they can— you did.”

Gaius stands abruptly, his cot scraping against the canvas floor of the tent. Claran’s eyes grow wide and he steps back as fear rises instinctively inside him, taking him back to fire and ash and pain, the grim ivory of a mask flashing before his eyes.

Rough fingers take hold of his chin and angle his head up. He has to tip his head back far to meet Gaius’s gaze. It’s far too much for him to handle and the connection makes him shake. He feels grief and pain, not his own, swirling inside him into a dim, murky mixture that he cannot see through.

Claran breathes through it, willing the furious beat of his heart to slow. “You still fear me,” Gaius says, his eyes roaming over Claran’s face.

It takes every bit of his strength to hold Gaius’s gaze. His hands shake. “I don’t,” he insists. He forces himself to take a step forward to show it, narrowing the space between them. “I don’t fear you, Gaius. I fear  _ for  _ you.”

Gaius’s eyes soften. His fingers move from Claran’s chin to his cheek, a calloused palm smoothing over soft skin. Claran sucks in a breath and his gut twists itself into knots. The action is so tender and sweet and far too good to be true, and yet he cannot help but want. It’s so selfish of him. “It is a wonder how this world has not broken you yet,” Gaius says darkly.

Claran lets out a huff of a laugh and helplessly tilts his head into Gaius’s palm. He allows himself to be bold and reaches up to grasp Gaius’s wrist with a small hand. He can’t get his fingers around Gaius’s arm. “It has tried it’s hardest to,” he says. “But… but I won’t let it. I can’t.”

A wave of sadness washes over him, as if he dipped his head into a cold stream, and Claran blinks through a sudden stream of tears that are not his own. He stares up at Gaius in concern, but before he can ask, Gaius stoops down and kisses him, and the question dies in his throat.

Gaius tastes of smoke. Claran hesitates for only a moment, before his desire gets the better of him. He sinks into the press of Gaius’s mouth, hungering, thoughts of propriety and alliances cast entirely from his mind, replaced by the seductive curl of desire. Gaius has to hunch to reach him and Claran stands on his toes, reaching desperately as their lips move and dance against one another. Gaius’s large hands grasp the convex curve of his hips and with ease he lifts Claran up, turns, and seats him on the cot. Their kiss breaks for only a moment before Gaius descends upon him once again, pushing further and further until Claran lies flat on his back beneath him.

Lips guide his own to part. Claran opens his mouth, obedient, already dropping into a dark and heady place. Gaius’s tongue licks cleverly into his mouth and he moans, quieted by their kiss but no less loud to their own ears.

Gaius pulls away and presses a finger to his lips. “If we are going to do this,” he whispers, “you must be quiet.”

“S-sorry,” Claran mumbles. Gaius draws his finger away and replaces it with his mouth, kissing Claran deeply once again. He pulls away and his lips trail down Claran’s jaw, each tender press of lips and tongue against his skin better than the last. “I-I’m…  _ ah.  _ I get too loud. Sometimes. I can’t help…”

Gaius glances up at him from beneath dark lashes, his eyes molten. Claran shivers. “You want this?” he asks, as if it wasn’t  _ obvious _ , but Claran appreciates the gesture nonetheless and nods so eagerly his glasses nearly fly off his nose. He feels Gaius’s lips curve against his skin. “Then figure something out.”

Teeth close against the skin of Claran’s neck and a cry nearly escapes him. He catches it at the last moment by slapping a hand tight over his mouth, letting out a muffled moan against his palm as Gaius sucks and laps at his flesh.

Something hard and rigid presses against his thigh. Knowing that he’s not the only one so affected by this inspires a hint of confidence, and he manages to squeeze a hand between their bodies and reaches down to cup the growing bulge in Gaius’s trousers. He feels Gaius exhale against his bruising skin, the muscles against his body flexing and straining as Gaius fights the urge to buck into his hand.

“Please,” Claran breathes, parting his fingers enough so Gaius can hear. “Please, Gaius. I want…”

Gaius growls against his skin. He reaches down and expertly undoes Claran’s belt, then his own. Claran shoves his trousers down as quickly as he can as Gaius takes out his throbbing cock, his breaths tight to bring himself to full hardness. It’s big and thick, red and leaking at the tip, and Claran’s mouth waters at the sight. Perhaps another time, when they do not have to be so secretive, he’ll be able to properly suck Gaius off like he wants.

But this is good too. Gaius shoves two fingers into Claran’s sopping wet hole and stretches him open, rumbling soothing words against his skin. Claran tries not to squirm, because he wants to be  _ good,  _ but they do not have time for this. He’s already soaking and open and ready, no matter how drastic their difference in size. He can  _ take it. _

“I’m ready,” he gasps, as Gaius’s fingers stroke against his g-spot. “I-I’m ready. Now, now, please—”

Gaius covers Claran’s mouth with his palm. He removes his fingers and the emptiness aches, but Claran can only squirm and spread his thighs apart and whine against Gaius’s hand.

Then Gaius finally presses inside him, and Claran cries out in bliss, the sound lost to those wandering outside their tent, only yalms away and unaware of what takes place inside Gaius’s tent. Gaius lets out a low, guttural noise, propping himself up with his hand as he bottoms out inside Claran’s hole. “You’re  _ tight,” _ he hisses. Claran nods, unable to convey how glad he is that he can make Gaius feel good.

Gaius begins to rock his hips. The pace is unrefined and fast, serving no purpose other than to bring them both to completion. The cot rocks beneath them, creaking with the quiet rhythm of their heavy breaths, the wet sound of Claran’s pussy, and the soft slap of Gaius’s clothed hips hitting the curve of Claran’s ass. Gaius strokes shallowly in and out of Claran’s welcoming cunt, his cock thick enough to hit his sensitive nerves and make him moan. Claran cannot help but long for Gaius to fuck him properly, to grab him with those large, calloused hands and hit him deep and hard, to  _ take  _ him. The thought alone is enough to make him tighten and Gaius swears violently, his hips stuttering faster.

“Good?” Gaius asks, panting. Claran nods, his eyes stinging with tears of desperation, belonging to him alone.

He moves his lips against Gaius’s palm. His gag loosens the barest amount, enough for him to whisper pleadingly. “Inside,” he breathes. His mind swims in a fog of arousal, driven only by his need. He reaches down to his heat and spreads his folds apart, his fingers tracing around the rim of his stretched hole, where Gaius ruts into him. “Come inside. I want… I want to feel you.”

Gaius tightens his palm over Claran’s mouth and risks a harder pace. The cot creaks louder, faster, and someone’s  _ bound  _ to notice if they walk too close to Gaius’s tent. It’s almost what Claran wants. It’s enough.

He comes, trembling from head to toe, his spine bowing with it. He convulses and lets out soft, muffled sobs of pleasure, his walls fluttering around Gaius’s cock before they draw impossibly tight. Gaius thrusts in deep and stays there, muffling a deep groan against the bruise on Claran’s neck. He spills himself deep inside, as requested, and Claran twitches with oversensitivity as heat splashes against his walls.

He breathes quickly through his nose. They grow still, straining, listening for any sign of discovery. The faint voices from the camp are far away and muffled.

Gaius sighs and releases Claran’s mouth. Claran focuses entirely on catching his breath, his head spinning and his body warm and sated. He twitches as Gaius pulls out and sticky warmth drips down from his hole.

The bed is far too small for both of them, but Claran tucks well enough into the crook of Gaius’s arm. “Was that just to placate me?” he asks bluntly, something bitter in his voice.

“No,” Claran answers. The sex loosened his tongue and he continues honestly. “I find you attractive. If it got your mind off things, then I will consider it a bonus.”

“Is my appearance the  _ only  _ reason?”

Claran is not sex-drunk enough to answer. He purses his lips, unwilling to lie, but unable to give voice to his feelings, to just how much he _likes_ someone he should not. Gaius cards his fingers through Claran’s hair. “You tell me to speak openly, and yet…”

“I’m sorry,” Claran whispers. He turns over and buries his face against Gaius’s chest. Like this he can hear the steady cadence of his heartbeat.

The fingers in his hair still. “You should go,” Gaius says, “before your allies make note of your absence and come sniffing about. I doubt they will take kindly to our activities.”

He’s right, of course, but Claran still wants to stay. He feels as if he’s been glued to Gaius’s side, and has to peel himself away before the temptation to take the risk and doze off grows any stronger. He stands and pulls up his clothes, smoothes out any unusual wrinkles, and raises the collar of his robes over the throbbing bruise in his neck. He can feel Gaius staring at him as he makes himself presentable.

“...Claran.” He stills, tense, and slowly turns to meet Gaius’s piercing gaze. “Come see me tomorrow.”

It’s both a request and a demand. Claran nods, biting his lip, pleased with the way Gaius’s eyes dart to his mouth. “Alright,” he whispers. He opens the flap of the tent and hurries away before anyone can wonder what took him so long.


End file.
